Most Glorious Night! Thou Wert

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom, On Thee Shall Press No Ponderous Tomb; But On Thy Turf Shall Roses Rear Their Leaves, The Earliest Of The Year.

Let None Think To Fly The Danger For Soon Or Late Love Is His Own Avenger.

Fools Are My Theme, Let Satire Be My Song.

I Am So Changeable, Being Everything By Turns And Nothing Long - Such A Strange Melange Of Good And Evil.

Reason Is So Unreasonable, That Few People Can Say They Are In Possession Of It.